


Vastly Uncomfortable Situation

by Doodlelupin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i dont know how to tag this at all actually haha, i feel like i may have overemphasized the presence of the vast in this but oh well, i may come back and tag this in the morning when i am feeling more coherent, its basically daisy clumsily trying to talk him down from a fall-induced panic attack, mike crew mention, not sure how to tag it but jons very certain hes going to die at points so. tw, you can see this as jondaisy if you wanna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28729914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin
Summary: Jon's barely been getting sleep and now this stupid box wont get on the shelf properly...sure would be a shame if the stepladder tipped, wouldnt it?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Vastly Uncomfortable Situation

**Author's Note:**

> im...tired so the tagging is bad lol. most of this was written in a far more coherent state so the fic itself is much better, prommy

It was barely 3pm and Jon was already daydreaming about going home. Usually he was too worried about his work to have time to think about it, but he was  _ exhausted _ . It had been months since he’d been able to have a solid week sleeping at his own flat; too many work trips and kidnappings to afford him that luxury, not to mention the time he spent at Gerorgie’s and sleeping on the cot in the back room when he couldn’t physically drag himself out the door.

He hadn’t been doing a lot of sleeping on the rare occasion he was home, anyway. He had always had strange dreams, nightmares far more common than anything else. And much like all other areas of his life, his time at the Archives had not aided that in the slightest. Instead, he mainly paced back and forth, trying to outrun the anxious thoughts. He hoped he could exhaust himself enough to fall asleep without thinking, to sleep without dreams; but it seemed the more tired he got, the harder it was to sleep. The longer he lay there staring at the ceiling, mentally turning the branch on the window into a plastic hand, the hair on his face into a spider’s web, the creaking of the floorboards a telltale sign of police boots; the longer he wished for the sun to just rise. Though daytime brought uncomfortable interactions of its own, at least the fears were mostly justified. Lying there in dread, simply waiting to be abducted again felt pathetic. 

That was the same reason he hadn’t taken anything to help him sleep. As much as he hated being a light sleeper, he did feel a bit safer going to sleep knowing he would be awoken if something did happen. Not that being awake had helped him up to this point.

As such, he was subsisting off of coffee, mainly. He much preferred tea (and with Martin’s fussing, he was drinking a fair amount of that too), but he needed the caffeine to feel even remotely alive. He found his shaky hands rather irritating, but if he really wanted it to stop he would have to put more effort into eating, whether that be food or...statements. And he didn’t feel like it was worth it. 

He threw himself into his work, trying to focus on the task at hand. It wasn’t just for his sake, the entire world was at stake here. He had to admit, though, that being able to focus on something other than himself was nice. Shut his brain off for a bit and slog through statements, pretending he could slip into the old rhythm of the office; it almost felt normal. Almost.

At present, he was looking for...something. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he had a feeling he’d know when he saw it. He had climbed the rusty stepladder once more, box in hand. He hadn’t realized how  _ heavy _ paper could be until he started working in the Archives. His arms were sore. Martin, Tim and Sasha used to pester him into asking for help getting boxes down from and returning them to the higher shelves, his appreciation for their obvious concern enough to crack his strong need to appear self-sufficient. He rarely outright asked, often just stopping by for a “chat” on the way to return a box of statements. It got the job done.

Though Martin would probably jump at the opportunity to help, he was still trying to keep everyone at an arm’s length. He didn’t want him to get too attached. Jon couldn’t even count the number of life threatening situations he’d been in lately. Martin had chosen to work for the Institute; Jon wasn’t going to endanger him further by getting closer to him than necessary. He still felt bad about reaching out to Georgie. As for the rest of the employees in the Archives, he tried to keep most of them to research and recording statements. He did his best to restrict their research to the internet, the Archives or the Institute Library. Any outside contact he dealt with directly. He was too late for Sasha. He wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

Jon realized he had been zoning out, shaking his head to clear it. He had been leaning the box against the shelf, dreading having to push it onto the top shelf. He sighed and got it over with, lifting it above his head, shoving the box onto the shelf. 

He heard a noise that was not the familiar slide of cardboard on metal. It was a small thud, with metallic reverberations. Jon frowned in confusion. He was already standing on the top step of the stepladder and wasn’t quite eye level with the shelf. He held onto the shelf and stood on tiptoe, straining to see what had fallen, but he couldn’t see anything. It was behind the box. He rolled his eyes. Of course it was.

He pushed on the box to slide it sideways, but the angle was awkward and it was heavy to begin with. It didn’t budge.

“Oh, I’m sure this will end well.” He grumbled. He put both hands on the side of the box, pushing with all his might. It still wouldn’t move. How was it stuck? In frustration, he shoved at it from the front. He had expected it to slide but it wouldn’t move backwards either. It was like pushing a wall. Which, unfortunately for Jon, meant the energy was displaced, sending him keeling over backwards. 

His heart dropped as he fell. Instantly he was back on Michael Crew’s couch, falling endlessly. He was never going to hit the ground. The wind was rushing past him, nothing around him to clutch onto as he fell. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to be stuck like this forever.

He hit the ground hard, crying out in pain and surprise. He must’ve twisted as he fell, landing halfway onto his shoulder. Pain exploded across his back and shoulder. He was shaking. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved to have hit the ground or not. He still couldn’t catch his breath, half from pain, half from panic. He sat up, clutching at his chest. He tried to slow his breathing.

“Jon?” His heart had been beating out of his chest a moment ago, but at the sound of that voice it stopped completely. For a moment. It doubled down, pumping twice as fast as before. He could barely hear over his own pulse, his mind blank with panic. She was here for him. This time, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

He scrambled backwards, away from the door.  _ The only door. _ He was trapped. He jumped as his back hit the shelf behind him. He looked around for something, for anything to protect himself. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his gasps for air. He swiped at his eyes with his other hand. He couldn’t have tears clouding his vision.

“Jon? Are you alright? I heard a loud noise and I-” Daisy rounded the corner, catching sight of him cowering on the floor. A whimper escaped his lips as he tried to get as far from her as possible without looking away.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Daisy looked baffled. A trick to get him to let his guard down. They were only a couple metres apart, nothing separating them but-the stepladder! Jon pushed himself to his feet, bursting forward and grabbing the stepladder. He swung it at her.

Daisy reacted instantly, ducking back and kicking the stepladder out of his hands, grabbing his wrist as he followed through on the swing and twisting his arm behind him, pinning him against the shelf.

“P-please! Please! I-I-I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t- I w- I wasn’t-” He gasped, his cheek pressed against the box in front of him, the shelf digging into his chest. He held out his other hand uselessly at his side. He was going to die here.

“God, sorry!” Daisy let him go, stepping backwards. “Instinct.” Jon whipped around, backing into the shelf, straining to get further away from Daisy. She held her hands up in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Anymore. Sorry about that. I mean, you did come at me with a stepladder.” She chuckled. She looked him in the face and her smile fell to a look of concern. “Look, Jon, I might not like you but I’m not to kill you, okay?” Jon was frozen, though he could feel himself trembling.

“I-uh-I’m-I-” He stammered. He didn’t believe her. Of course not. She was going to kill him. She was toying with him. Like a cat letting a mouse run safely over its paws before revealing its claws. He wasn’t sure whether he should play into it. If he agreed, would she play it out longer? Give him a chance to make a break for it, for someone to walk in and save him...or would she be satisfied with having tricked him and pounce? He had to try something.

“I-uh, I believe you.” He said, trying to come across as relieved. Daisy looked at him funny. 

“Are you sure?” Daisy asked. It didn’t sound like a challenge, it sounded like genuine confusion. And concern? Maybe...maybe she was telling the truth. He still wasn’t certain he could trust her, but his adrenaline was dwindling and he was exhausted. He  _ hurt _ , his shoulder, his back, his chest, his wrist, not to mention all his other wounds. He sank to the floor with a sigh.

“No. And I don’t know if I ever will be.” He said softly. Daisy walked over, turning her back to the shelf and sitting down on the floor beside him. She sat with one knee to her chest, her other leg extended in front of her.

“You can ask me.” She said after a moment.

“A-ask you?” He was pretty sure he knew what she meant, but he didn’t want to take the chance of being wrong.

“You know, the way you do.” she said.

“Um. Are you-” He took a breath, starting again. “Are you going to kill me?” He Compelled.

“No.” She replied simply. “Not now. If you end up fully turning into some... _ freak _ I might have to, but for now...you seem to be trying to be human. That has to count for something.” She gave Jon a look. “See?”

“Alright.” He sighed. He wasn’t sure what her criteria was for “freak”, but he thought he’d know if the time came. “I’m sorry.” He said softly.

“Like I said, no need to apologize.” She replied. “It’s not like I haven’t given you good reason to be afraid of me.” Jon absent-mindedly touched his neck, the wound not yet fully healed. It didn’t hurt anymore. Not physically, at least. Psychologically? He wasn’t sure it ever would.

“Did you fall off the ladder?” Daisy asked, breaking the silence that had settled in. There was a hint of humour to her voice.

“ _ Yes _ .” He replied, hoping to maintain some semblance of dignity. It was a lost cause. They both burst into laughter.

Jon did not fully trust Daisy and he certainly didn’t forgive her. For now, though, he could settle for this.

“Buy me a tea for trying to break my wrist?” Jon asked, getting to his feet and offering Daisy a hand.

“How about you buy  _ me  _ a tea for trying to bash my head in with a stepladder?” Daisy replied, taking his hand and pulling herself to her feet. Jon chuckled.

“Fair enough. Though I think you still owe me one.” he said, pointing to his throat.

“That I do.” Daisy conceded. “Just this once, Sims.” Jon grinned. Huh. It had been a while since he’d done that. It felt nice. Maybe he’d try to talk to his coworkers more. Maybe.

They headed out for tea and Jon felt more at peace than he had in a long time. Though his shoulder still hurt.


End file.
